Demand for Compassion
by Roguishsprite
Summary: Zeke is tired of handling his guilt alone; and there is only one person who really understands. Warning: SLASH


Warning: This story is SLASH Rated R. There is a descriptive m/m sexual relationship in this story. You have been warned.....  
  
After last night's angst-ridden capture Zeke rested. Torn by guilt after sending back a young man who was already tortured by his own demons, Zeke lay there staring at the ceiling re-living the last few hours. Abused as a child, was this young man really at fault? Was there any other way? Zeke could still hear his screams and see the blinding light returning that lost soul to hell. And to add to it all, Zeke's arm still stung from the mark that had faded hours ago.  
  
As Zeke rested on the cheap hotel grade bed, the sudden deadness of the air around him alerted him to a familiar intruder.  
  
"What do you think *you're* doing?" asked that familiar icy voice, tormenting him, interrupting his depression.  
  
Zeke ignored him.  
  
The Devil walked to the end of Zeke's bed and put his hand on his foot, tugging at his toes.  
"Come on, Sleepy, you're wasting valuable time...GET UP!"  
  
"Not quite yet," Zeke replied, almost too quietly to be heard.  
  
The Devil walked around to stand beside the bed and looked down at his servant. "Tsk tsk tsk," he said, shaking his head, "Don't let your pride get the best of you, Mr. Stone. You may think you deserve a rest, but you don't. Remember, you work for me. When I say 'get up', you're supposed to get up. Get Up."  
  
Zeke looked at him, but did not reply. To the Devil, the light behind those eyes seemed to be dimming. The Devil sat down on the bed beside him, studying his face, careful not to show any emotion of his own.  
  
The Devil took a deep breath, exhaling loudly through his nose. "All right, Ezekiel, tell me your woes. I'll listen to your pain like a good friend and send you a Hallmark. We'll cry, we'll hug, and we'll play a little Brahms. Then, maybe we can be done with this whole cliché. Maybe then I can get you back to gathering up my lost souls. Go ahead, spill it."  
  
Snorting his reply, Zeke managed a smile, shook his head in disbelief and draped one arm over his eyes, exhaustion claiming him. The Devil continued to sit beside him, waiting...for something.  
  
"What do you want, Mr. Stone? A clue about your next prey? Do you need me to show you who your next quarry is, where he is, what he's doing? What do you want, Ezekiel? Do you even know *that* much?"  
  
Zeke sat up in bed, wrapping his arms around his knees and rested his chin on them. "For starters, I don't want your help. I don't want you near me. I don't even want to hear your voice." Zeke turned his head and placed his full gaze up on the Devil, challenging him.  
  
"Ah," responded the Devil, "But you *do* need me, don't you Ezekiel?" The Devil's stare seemed to burn into Zeke. Knowing what was behind that stare made Zeke's stomach tighten. Continuing, the Devil spoke in his usual acidic tone, "You need my guidance, my prodding, my encourage-"  
  
"You son-of-a-bitch," spat Zeke, interrupting. "You don't have any idea what I need. No idea at all."  
  
Zeke jumped out of bed and headed for the refrigerator. Reaching for the door, the Devil was right there, blocking it.  
  
"Back...Off" hissed Zeke.  
  
"Why don't you tell me, Ezekiel?" The Devil leaned in, whispering in hot breath, "...go ahead, tell me."  
  
"You've always got to be right in my face, don't you?" confronted Zeke, looking down at the Devil. "Can't you just once ask me if I'm ok? Ask me how I feel? Ask 'are you all right'?"  
  
Laughing, the Devil answered, "Ho Ho - that's a good one. Lucifer, the Nurse Maid. Need a band-aid, Ezekiel?" The Devil continued to laugh. Turning, he walked away from Zeke.  
  
Zeke came up behind him, grabbed his arm, spun the Devil around and backed him into the wall. Almost nose-to-nose, Zeke answered, "Maybe I do."  
  
That cold serpent smile faded slowly as the Devil read the rage in Zeke's eyes. The two beings stood there in the kitchen in dead silence glaring at each other as the tense seconds passed.  
  
"Ask me." Zeke said in a menacing tone, "Ask me if I am OK."  
  
A strangled reply came from the Devil. "I ...can't do that."  
  
"Why not?" whispered Zeke, "aren't you the boss?"  
  
The Devil opened his mouth to speak, but closed it, thinking better of it.  
  
"Haven't you ever tried it?" asked Zeke, in a soft, teasing voice.  
  
Zeke raised his hand, touching the Devil's face with the back of his fingers. At his touch, the Devil's eyes closed as he shakily inhaled a breath of air.  
  
Zeke leaned in, lips barely touching the Devil's mouth, Zeke's words hotly escaping his lips, "Ask me if I'm ok."  
  
"Zeke..." the fallen angel whispered. His hand reached up to rest on Zeke's wrist, pulling Zeke's hand away from the Devil's mouth. The Devil closed his eyes again, willing himself to be in control of a situation he was not prepared for.  
  
"Ask me..." repeated Zeke, placing a soft encouraging kiss on the Devil's parted lips.  
  
Opening his eyes, the Devil looked at Zeke. Looked at him in complete astonishment. Man's indecency, his hatred, his compulsions have never shocked or surprised the Devil. This act, however, surprised him.  
  
"Do it, now..." harassed Zeke, pressing against him. Zeke's hands returned to touch the Devil's face gently.  
  
Zeke and his tormentor, his boss, his lifeline stood there, staring at each other. The Devil was completely captive by the urgency and the desperation in Zeke's voice.  
  
"Are you...OK?" asked the Devil, his fingers reaching for the tear, threatening to spill from Zeke's eyes.  
  
"No..." whispered Zeke, answering the question.  
  
Wiping the tear, the Devil spoke softly, "You will be."  
  
The Devil pulled Zeke down to him, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. The passion was almost too great for Zeke to bear as he pulled away struggling for air.   
  
The Devil pulled him back again, kissing him, his tongue darting. Hands that touched the Devil's face, traveled shakily down his chest, pressing him there. Clumsily, Zeke ripped at the Dark One's shirt, desperately searching for direct contact with that fevered flesh. Zeke leaned into the Devil bending his knee to press into the hardening erection. Satan gasped, unprepared for the intensity of Zeke's touch.  
  
The Devil reached down and grabbed Zeke's crotch. His hot hand roughly stroked Zeke's throbbing member.   
  
"Please...you can't..." stuttered Zeke.  
  
"Oh yes, but I can," answered the Devil, struggling to maintain his own calm. "Didn't you know what you were getting yourself into, Ezekiel?" asked the Devil. Stroking, his rhythm inflamed with a dizzying momentum.  
  
"I...I..." was all that Zeke managed to say, before surrendering to a most devastating orgasm; one that left him trembling, collapsing where he stood.  
  
**  
  
Blinking, cobwebs clearing, the Devil's face came into focus. Zeke looked up at him from the floor. "What the hell was I thinking?" Zeke asked out loud, a look of bewilderment on his face.   
  
The Devil looked back at him, without expression. He kneeled down beside Zeke, studying the dazed face. Then his own face softened. He bent down and whispered into Zeke's ear, "Are you OK, Ezekiel?"  
  
"Yes," whispered Zeke. "I am now."  
  
  



End file.
